Ribblestrop Forever! (33 page)

‘We could split into groups,’ said Nikko.

‘No,’ said Asilah.

‘Stay together,’ said a Priory boy. ‘I want to say together.’

‘What are you thinking, Tom?’ said Podma.

Tomaz was staring at the map. ‘I’m thinking we ought to explore the caves.’

Asilah frowned. ‘I remember going underground last term,’ he said. ‘When they drained the lake, remember? That was the most dangerous thing we ever did.’

‘Come on,’ said Scott. ‘We could give it a go – see where they take us.’

‘Is anyone scared?’ said Nikko.

The Priory children shook their heads.

‘I bet we can get underground,’ said Tomaz. ‘We’ll be able to tell which direction we’re heading in, so if we’re lucky . . . we’ll find a way
home.’

Imagio stood up. ‘How many torches do you guys have?’

The Priory children produced powerful flashlights.

‘Okay,’ said Asilah. ‘Let’s do it.’

They packed the things they needed and kicked out the fire. Tomaz led, with Sanjay behind him, and they moved in single file. The cave they were in narrowed almost at once and ended in a thin
crack. The roof lowered too, and they had to force themselves through, and then flop down onto their bellies. After some time, the passage opened and they gathered around for another
conference.

Tomaz pointed at a corkscrew tunnel of rock that rose steeply upwards. ‘You recognise that?’ he said. ‘You’ve seen one of them before?’

‘No,’ said Israel.

‘Captain Routon showed me one. They’re water holes. They were bored through in the Ice Age.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ said Charlie.

‘It sounds bad,’ said Sanjay. ‘The way it’s raining, I don’t want this place to fill up.’

‘It won’t do that,’ said Tomaz. ‘If anything, the opposite. They’ll keep the place dry. What I’m thinking is, they probably go a long way and they don’t
suddenly come to an end – you know, they have to lead somewhere.’

‘You know it’s in the wrong direction?’ said Jacqueline. She was peering at her compass. ‘It’ll take us north and that’s not getting us back to
camp.’

‘They go all over the place,’ said Tomaz. ‘That one probably bends round in a little while.’

‘Let’s do it,’ said Sanjay. ‘We can’t just talk about it. We’ve got to do it.’

‘After you,’ said Tomaz. ‘You can lead.’

Sanjay crawled into the corkscrew and started to climb. Behind him, the long line of children followed, torch-beams bouncing. They were led up for twenty metres, then back on themselves around
an elbow. Then it was a steep climb down and they could feel the pulse of an invisible river, deep beneath their feet. When the roof came low, the wind got in from some unseen fissure or crack, and
there was a sound like a flute, long and clear – almost beautiful. Then the tunnel plunged down steeper than ever, like a chimney, and they felt warmth rising. The rock was cracked with lines
of silver and there were easy footholds. Sanjay led, down and down, and they weren’t heading north, south, east or west. They were heading to the earth’s core.

Millie’s team had slept well too.

The children had breakfasted on nuts and fruit, and they decided to deal with the foul weather by walking straight through it. They were soaked, of course, and the wind had almost blown them off
the ridge they were following, but it never occurred to them to give up or retrace their steps.

By midday they were looking down into a world of boiling cloud. They discarded any items that weren’t necessary, preferring to travel with sticks in one hand and daggers in their belts.
The canvas cloaks they wore were useless, so they dropped them. They could get no wetter, so the water ceased to bother them. They strode into the rain, exhilarated, letting the wind flow over
them.

They didn’t know if the path they trod took them in the right direction, for the maps had dissolved. Crags revolved right and left, and they had no idea which one Lightning Tor might be
– or if it was even visible yet. They would climb over some rocky outcrop and see down into the depths of the valley for a moment – then the view would be filled with vapour. Sometimes
they would have to stop, for they could see nothing – and they would hold one another and shout out their names. They waited, and their beating hearts would gradually calm, and the way would
be clear again.

At last, they paused for a rest under a rocky overhang and ate more fruit. There was no chance of a fire, so they squatted close for warmth, smiling at each other. They were amazed at the
distance they’d come and the wildness of the world.

‘You think this is the way?’ said Sanchez.

‘It might be,’ said Vijay. ‘Who cares?’

‘What does Lightning Tor look like?’ said Miles.

‘I guess it’s big,’ said Anjoli.

Millie started to laugh. They were surrounded by great granite plugs and peaks, and the realisation that they had no idea where they were going was suddenly funny. Their compass was gone and
Sanchez had hurled the field telephone into the mist in a joyful display of carelessness. A roll of thunder drove up the valley, making the rock they leaned against tremble. Then it burst like a
bomb over their heads and they looked up, expecting to see fireworks. The rain came down yet harder, pounding them.

‘We are so lost!’ laughed Miles.

Sanchez said, ‘We’d better just pick a rock and climb it . . .’

‘Climb them all!’ said Anjoli. ‘Why not?’

He was pointing into the rain, grinning. He crept out from the overhang and squatted in the full force of the downpour. His long hair was plastered down his shoulders and he held it back from
his face. He pointed again. Millie joined him, putting her arm round his neck, and Miles did the same.

‘What have you seen?’ shouted Millie. ‘What’s out there?’

‘Wait,’ said Anjoli, into her ear. ‘It’ll come again. It was just above that ridge.’

Vijay joined them then and so did Sanchez. They waited together in a rain so hard and pure it felt like a waterfall. The sky was turning black as they watched, for a shelf of cloud had arrived,
pushing in like a tide. The mist was sent scurrying out of the valley before it.

‘Keep looking!’ cried Anjoli. ‘You’ll see in a minute. You’ll see the lightning.’

As he said it, a bolt flashed from the cloud and pierced the rock in front of them like a spear. It was like a crack in the sky and the air burned around it. The children screamed as it hit, and
then – at once – there was a second bolt. Both had landed on the same peak, but what was truly remarkable was the image left behind. The sudden burst of brightness had turned the
landscape black and white, and there was a phosphorescence in the air. The children blinked, for their retinas had been scalded.

The lightning had illuminated a trail of stones right up the side of the mountain they were facing. The stones were bright white and laid out like markers. But the strangest thing was that they
continued to shine, like runway lights. Millie stood and looked behind her and saw, with a gasp, that there were more. They trailed out behind, marking the very path they’d been walking. They
had come exactly the right way, as if some guide had been leading them.

‘It’s the flare path!’ she cried.

‘What?’

‘I said . . .’

The thunder rolled over them and her words were torn to pieces. She shouted again, but there was no need, because they could all see. It was the flare path to Lightning Tor – the
mysterious path Doctor Ellie had so hoped to find. It ran straight, and it was lit not by the moon and not by the sun, but by cosmic fire.

The lightning struck again, three times in succession, and they saw the great fist of rock rising out of the crater that was Lightning Tor. They saw the mast above it and a ring of stones around
the top. Their path was unmistakable. It was clear as a motorway – an airstrip – and it led to the top of the volcano.

Anjoli went first.

There was mist rolling on either side, but the stones were still aglow. Miles followed him, then Sanchez, then Vijay and Millie came last. They started to run, for the way had been beaten flat
by many feet. When the lightning came again, directly ahead, it was reassuring. The white stones faded slowly and needed that burst of electricity to brighten them. They ran and ran, and came at
last to where the ground dipped and levelled. They struggled over loose boulders to the foot of the tor they had to climb. Hand over hand they went, for it was protected by walls of rubble. They
squeezed over and under, the rain still pelting them.

At last, they came to a fence.
No Admittance,
said a sign.
Strictly Private.
They climbed right over it and dropped happily to the other side.

The next fence they came to was much higher and topped with razor wire. They followed this to an enormous gate made of sheet metal. Amazingly, it swung open as they looked at it. The wind caught
it and eased it back with a groan of old iron hinges. The padlocks were gone and the way was clear.

‘This must be the place,’ panted Sanchez. ‘This is the finishing post – that radio mast.’

‘I can see flags!’ said Vijay.

The storm had died for a moment and the children stood still, catching their breath. The ground around them was covered in red-and-black flags.

‘You think Captain Routon’s up there?’ said Miles. ‘Up at the top? Do you think we’ve won?’

‘We must have,’ said Millie. ‘You don’t think anyone else will make it, do you? I bet they’ve all given up. The Priory kids will have gone straight back.’

‘Let’s go up. See if there’s food . . .’ said Miles. He stopped.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Vijay.

Millie started to laugh. ‘That is impossible!’ she gasped.

They had clambered up a shelf of rock and were in sight of a narrow track. Fifty metres further up, an ice-cream van had parked. Its roof was the shape of a vanilla cone, just like the one that
had seen on the driveway to their school.

They were exhausted, but managed to run to the van, laughing and gasping. They huddled against it for shelter. There was one more stretch of path up to the crater, but the last sprint had worn
them out. Millie could barely stand as another twist of lightning struck and they all screamed with joy. The world was drenched in whiteness so the children didn’t see the three men until it
was too late. They pounced with savage violence and it was over in seconds.

Vijay and Anjoli were slammed into the mud.

Sanchez found his arms twisted up his back and the breath driven from his body. Miles ducked a blow from Gary Cuthbertson and had the presence of mind to go for his sword. But the man was too
quick and drove his fist hard into the boy’s chest, knocking him flat on his back. They felt heavy knees on their shoulders and in a moment their wrists were bound. A length of chain pulled
four of them together, while Sanchez was dragged aside and flung into the vehicle.

Timmy Fox bent over Miles.

‘This is the one,’ he said, breathing heavily. ‘If it hadn’t been for this one . . .’

Gary Cuthbertson drew him back and Miles coughed up lungfuls of mud, gasping for breath.

‘Get the balloon ready!’ he yelled.

‘Let me look at him. I’m not a violent man, but—’

‘Get the balloon up! I’ll deal with them!’

Timmy Fox staggered off into the wind and Gary Cuthbertson turned to Millie. He rolled her over with his boot and knelt by her side. The rain poured upon them both and he grinned into her wide,
frightened eyes. ‘Think you can walk, girlie?’

‘Where’s Sanchez?’

‘You recognise me? You weren’t expecting this, were you?’ The man started to laugh, for the child was speechless. He could see her mind racing, as the horror and helplessness
dawned. All four were shivering now and he drew the chain that bound them tighter. ‘I can drag you, if you want,’ he said. ‘I’ll drag you like dogs and skin you on the
rocks!’ He took Millie’s chin. ‘You do remember me, don’t you?’

Still Millie couldn’t speak.

‘Get them up to the top,’ shouted Percy. He slammed the door of the ice-cream van and wiped blood from his nose. ‘The boy’s in the bag. I’ll finish off up top and
be back for him.’

They hauled the children to their feet together. Gary Cuthbertson yanked them forward, up the steps. When they tripped, he jerked them up again. The ex-policeman guarded from the rear, kicking
them in front of him, and they made slow progress up towards the crater. They could hear Sanchez, yelling and kicking, but the wind soon obliterated his cries.

What, meanwhile, had happened to the teachers?

The children were now spread across the moor – in mortal danger – and their teachers knew nothing. Dawn had broken and it was just as ex-Inspector Cuthbertson had said. The police
were all around the campsite, waiting to spring. They had learnt from their mistakes and had arrived in darkness. Mercifully, however, Captain Routon had risen early . . .

He had been woken by the grumbling of the camel and noticed at once that its water dish was dry. Why that would make it anxious, he couldn’t imagine; camels, he thought, could go for
months without drinking. He took her down to the stream anyway and the donkeys followed. When he turned, the silhouette of armed officers was clear against the skyline and his training kicked in at
once. In a second, he was on his belly. He squirmed along the bed of the stream and, finding cover, crossed to higher ground. He gasped in amazement. A long convoy of police vehicles stretched down
the road. There were men everywhere – dogs, too. There was a bus and he read five dreadful words:
Child Protection Emergency Recovery Unit.

Routon worked fast.

He scraped mud over his face and rabbit-crawled around the flank of Flashing Tor. Then he slid through the grass and got close to a policeman. There was little he could do, clearly – to
take on a whole unit would be suicide. The main thing was surveillance. He toyed with the idea of infiltration, for the officer nearby was smoking, away from his mates, radio by his side. Routon
sized him up, knowing that one blow to the neck would do the trick. He could pull on the uniform and be at the heart of the mission, working from within. It was a foolish fantasy, though, and the
wise words of an old commanding officer came back to him. ‘Watch and re-group, Routon! Don’t ever be hasty.’